Duality

by Renee Wildes

  Loren caught Trystan’s eye and shook his head. “They shall be fine, Moira, once Hengist returns.”

  Trystan’s jaw tightened. Something feral green flashed in his eyes. “Let’s get ye out o’ this water. Some nice lizard soup be just th’ thing on a cold night like this.”

  Her wan face paled further. “Bastard.”

  “Our parents were well wed e’er I showed. She hates lizard anything,” he told Loren. “E’en though they’re perfectly edible.”

  “Except norricks,” Loren stated.

  Trystan laughed. “Weel, aye. They’re ghastly, e’en skinned an’ boiled afore roasting. But they’re no’ poisonous.”

  Loren’s face screwed up. “Nay, they just taste like oily mud. You have to be desperate to resort to them.”

  Moira clutched her stomach.

  “Ye dinna look well, sister.” Trystan’s face was the picture of innocence. “Was it sommat we said?”

  Moira turned back the way she’d come. “There’s another flat stone behind that upright one.” She pointed. “’Tis big enough fer all three o’ us t’ sit ’round a fire, an’ two o’ us shoulda be able t’ lie down at a time whilst a third keeps watch.”

  “The standin’ stone should shield most o’ th’ light from anyone comin’ from th’ south or th’ west,” Trystan observed. “But we canna do much about smoke. Damp wood smokes.”

  “I’ll risk it with these bugs. I’ll e’en sit downwind.”

  “Come, Moira.” Loren headed for the campsite. “Let us get you where you can dry out. I shall get a fire started.”

  Trystan turned to Niadh. “Time t’ go huntin’, lad.”

  “No lizards,” she called after his retreating form.

  Laughter floated back to them.

  Moira reclined on one arm and watched Loren through narrowed eyes. “Why’d ye blather on o’ th’ bairn? Ye’d no right. ’Tis me news t’ share.”

  “You were with him for how long and said naught?”

  “’Tis not sommat needs worryin’ after.”

  “That child is all the more reason for Jalad to come after you with his last man and breath.” He banked the fire for a long, slow burn. “He shall never stop hunting you. That child is the future.”

  “Be ye a seer yerself now?”

  “Nay, just one familiar with court politics and the importance of a royal heir. You would overdo. You are not well. Best have two sets of eyes looking out for you.”

  “He’ll coddle me like a lowland racer broodmare. Ye dinna ken th’ mountain tribesmen. They treat a carryin’ woman like th’ first thin ice o’ winter.” She bristled. “I’ve too much t’ do t’ put up with that nonsense. I willna break.”

  “You are obviously Badger Clan.” Loren pulled a waterskin from Hani`ena’s saddle.

  “My dam’s cousin-kin.” Moira sat up with alarm as he scooped swamp water into the container. “What are ye doin’? Ye canna drink this muck.”

  He shot her a guarded look. “Have you naught to drink or eat since you left?”

  Intent-to-lie. Aching hunger. Most of all, intense thirst. “I’m fine. That water’s undrinkable, Loren, e’en fer ye.”

  He smiled as he pulled his grandmother Lorelei’s amulet from around his neck. “For you and me, aye. For this, nay.”

  “What is it?”

  He dropped it into the waterskin. “A purification stone. It makes any water pure as a clear mountain spring.”

  Waves of skepticism warred with yearning.

  “I shall test it for you.” He lifted the skin to his mouth and drank his fill. “See? It is fine.” He handed it to her. “Now your turn.”

  She took a sip. Her eyes widened. “Our well isna this fresh.” She drank long and deep.

  Loren stripped Hani`ena’s saddle and set it on the rock.

  Moira handed the skin back to Loren. He held it to Hani`ena. The mare showed none of the urgency of one who had long gone without.

  Loren shrugged at the look of wonder on Moira’s face. “It allows us to live off the land.” He refilled the skin. “Rest. I shall see what foods I can gather.”

  The woman leaned back and closed her eyes. “Mayhaps just fer a minute—”

  Her consciousness fled scant moments later.

  “She is exhausted,” Hani`ena sent. “We must get her home. She cannot continue like this.”

  “I shall return with what I can.” Setting the waterskin down aside the fire, Loren hopped back into the water.

  The Lady was generous; he found bulbs, roots, nuts and seeds. He also found some withered laverberries, sometimes called mother’s love for the settling effect they had on squeamish pregnant stomachs. When he returned, Moira was sound asleep and Trystan was gutting a yearling swamp-buck.

  Trystan looked up at Loren’s approach. “Had t’ turn down a dozen norricks fer this li’l one.” He split the entrails into two piles for Ealga and Niadh. “Those best cooked or raw?”

  “Cooked. Cut up that liver and I shall make soup. We can roast the rest.” Loren frowned at the dark circles under Moira’s eyes, then watched Trystan unfold a collapsible black-scaled hide kettle and fill it with water from the waterskin. “Is that…”

  Trystan nodded. “Made from th’ shed skin o’ a guardian. Fire-proof. Nigh indestructible.”

  “I thought they were all gone.”

  Trystan’s eyes were sad. “Aye. They are. This kettle is o’er a hundred years old. Th’ guardians vanished from these lands generations ago. None know why they left or where they went. Things havena been th’ same fer our people since.”

  “How so?”

  “They were th’ heart an’ soul o’ th’ village. All th’ rites centered ’round th’ guardians. Things are…hollow now.” Trystan cut up the liver and dumped it into the pot with the bulbs, nuts and seeds. He then kicked the two piles of entrails farther from the fire. “All right, ye two. Time t’ eat,” he called to his animal companions.

  Ealga and Niadh pounced on the food, Niadh on the larger portion.

  “Brutes.” Hani`ena turned her back on the bloody display.

  Loren refilled the waterskin. He and Trystan washed the blood from their hands, then Loren cut up the roots and added them to the pot. He set the cooking pot in the coals at the edge of the fire.

  Trystan spitted the swamp buck and hung it over the flames.

  The smell of cooking food roused Moira. “I shoulda helped. Ye shoulda woke me.” She paled and crossed her arms across her stomach.

  Trystan disagreed. “Ye need t’ rest, mayina.”

  She scowled. “Dinna start wi’ me, ye hulkin’ great bully.”

  Loren brought the waterskin over to her. “Drink.”

  She did, then gagged. “I dinna think ’tis a good idea.”

  Loren handed her the handful of berries. “They shall help keep food down.”

  She winced, then popped a berry in her mouth. “Dinna e’en say that word right now.”

  “Dinna ye know ’tis called mornin’ sickness, mayina? Trust ye t’ do e’en this backward.”

  “I be sick all th’ time, it seems.”

  Loren noted the gentleness with which Trystan tucked a blanket around his sister. Trystan’s concern was a palpable thing. He wanted her home now, tonight. He knew she was hunted. He knew they were slowed, vulnerable. Trystan would defend her with his life.

  Loren knew the other man feared it would not be enough.

  “All three of you need to eat and rest. Furball, Featherhead and I can keep watch tonight,” Hani`ena offered.

  With the berries’ aid Moira managed enough soup to satisfy both Loren and Trystan. “We’re far ’nough north we can move back inland.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. Niadh curled next to her in the choking smoke.

  “We can skirt th’ edges o’ th’ swamp. Better ground fer hooved stock. Th’ foothills’re less’n a week away. Badger Clan’ll ha’ provisions an’ an herb-granny.”

  Loren nodded, thinking hard. Dara’s pain hamm
ered in the back of his mind, dull and distant but always present. He could go no farther with the Wolf Clan siblings. “You and Moira go on at first light. Hani`ena and I can check our backtrail.”

  Trystan frowned. “How far back?”

  “You ask too many questions.”

  “’Bout what I thought.”

  “Just take care of your sister.”

  “’Tis mad t’return.”

  “There are warriors left. Jakop’s Crossroads, Rainbow Falls and White Pines shall rise to their king’s banner. You and your kin are welcome to join us.”

  “Asides Wolf an’ Badger Clans, our sister Grainne wed inna Bear Clan. We can count mayhaps two hundred warriors amongst th’ three clans ’twould support Hengist fer Moira’s sake.”

  Moira frowned. “I can still fight, ye fools. I’d plead me own cause.”

  Both men shook their heads. “Carryin’ women are forbidden t’fight.”

  “Your first duty is Hengist’s heir.”

  “Ye canna return alone.” Trystan frowned at him.

  “Jalad holds prisoner one I cannot leave. Life-debt was sworn.” Loren smiled at Hani`ena across dancing flames. “Asides, who said I return alone?”

  A wave of conviction met him. “Never alone. Partners to the end.”

  “First light.” Trystan lay back against his blankets, arms crossed under his head. “Wake me for second watch.”

  “I shalt watch with the others. Furball and Featherhead just have to watch for different. Any changes in what-should-be, and I shalt wake you. Get some sleep.”

  Loren closed his eyes. Without the conscious distraction, Dara’s pain neared. Hunger, thirst, burning pain. His mind drifted into unsettling dreams. Hollow black eyes, a flicker of red flame. Silent laughter. Tears of despair. How long he drifted he did not know, but he found himself staring at the face of death, and his eyes snapped open.

  Moira and Trystan lay sleeping. As Loren watched, a shimmering glow descended to envelop Hani`ena, and peace seeped into his soul.

  They were not alone.

  Chapter Six

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the dark. A flicker of black fire, crushing despair, announced Jalad’s arrival. Years ago Mount Aege had burst into flames, a fountain of fire a thousand feet high that had rained smoke and ash for weeks. Dara had ventured out after the flaming rivers had blackened and slowed their searing descent. A hard black crust gleamed red-gold, flaring betwixt the cracks.

  His eyes reminded her of that river of destruction, red under black. Quiet. Implacable. Unstoppable.

  “Cower in fear. Beg for mercy, though you’ll find none.” Beneath twisted human lust for blood and power lurked… Something else. A cold alien will, intelligent, ruthless.

  Cower? Beg? Death with pride and dignity was preferable to either. Whether she died was out of her hands. How she died was a different matter—that much she would control. With lowered head and veiled eyes, Dara watched its approach. The dark emotions projected were meant to cow her, but she waited, looking for what lay behind the power.

  “Stay still, study your enemy.” Rufus’ oft-repeated counsel came back to her now. “Your enemy’s weaknesses will reveal themselves. Patience. Vigilance.”

  Jalad stopped just beyond reach, towering over her. “Have you reconsidered my offer?” The sneering voice grated over her frayed nerves like hot iron filings.

  “Come a little closer and I’ll tell you my answer,” she whispered, hoping the quiet tone would lure him in. The need to kill this monster choked her. Somehow she must see it done.

  “I think not.” He held out a chalice of wine. “To warm you.”

  Dara sniffed. Dreamwine. She wavered. A few sips would ease her pain; the entire goblet might take all awareness for a time. After agonizing confinement, part of her longed for relief, for escape. But she stiffened and shook her head. ’Twas but a temporary solution that would leave her soft-minded and open to suggestion. “What kind of fool do you take me for? I know what you hold in your hand.”

  “I would ease your suffering.” His voice was oil flowing over dry tinder.

  Did he really expect her to believe that? “You seek to control my mind as you do my body.”

  “I offer opportunity. Better join me than defy me. You will be an example to your people, one way or another.”

  Silent laughter rolled over her. A subtle probe, a push. Something tested…she knew not what. Whatever it was, it found no cracks in her invisible armor.

  “Serve me,” he whispered, an echo of the past like a repetitious nightmare. “I will make you great. I can give you whatever you want. Yield and all this goes away.”

  Rage flared deep within, a bright flame of resolve. Death afore dishonor… Dara rolled her shoulders. Such malevolence. Why so passive? It should have been able to overwhelm her mind and take what it wanted. Why the undermining campaign? The persuasion? The temptation? She sensed the urgency beneath her own questions, but the answer hovered just beyond her tenuous grasp. Focus, she ordered herself.

  Jalad set the chalice down on the outer rim of her reach. “I know you’re thirsty. Drink this or naught.” He smirked. “Sooner or later, survival instincts will win out over resistance. Your own strength will turn against you. Your body won’t allow you to die. It will defeat your will. You will be mine. Body…mind…”

  “And soul,” gloated the Other.

  Dara shuddered. Jalad’s black lust crawled over her sensitized skin like a poisonous spider. She sensed he enjoyed her helplessness, her resistance. The longer she held out, the greater his satisfaction when she broke. Physical strength was not a factor now.

  “Never.” Will and words were all she had left.

  Too late, she caught the motion out of the corner of her eye. Her ribs give way as his metal-tipped boots connected with her unprotected side. The searing pain told her what that metal was. Astounding how all the air in the world vanished in the blink of an eye.

  The chalice tipped over, its potion a useless puddle.

  The red flared brighter beneath the black. “Fool. Would you have me take you one piece at a time? Do you want to die? Cold, filthy, alone and forgotten in the dark?”

  She gaped and floundered like a landed trout. Her power was beyond reach, bound by iron. Her vision dimmed for a moment, and his features morphed into a nightmare of pitch and smoke. The Other ’twas formless.

  Jalad froze as the Other caught her new awareness.

  Dara saw the first hint of uncertainty, of fear. Air seeped into her lungs in an agonizing trickle. “I see you now.”

  Hate roiled over her, fear and despair twisted to masquerade as her own. She focused all into blocking it out. With her fading will came awakening. “You can’t take. You’re only allowed those who yield.”

  His face was a twisted demonic mask. A hollow voice rolled through her mind. “For power, for riches, they yield. In desperation they embrace the dark and are forever damned. No mortal may stand against me.” Within the flesh shell of the warlord, the Other reached out an icy hand and grasped her arm.

  The dragon’s blood flared to burning life beneath her skin. He gasped, his eyes narrowing. The Other recognized a change. “What are you? You burn with a fire all your own.”

  “I see you, puppet king. All strong and good mortals can stand against you. You can but rule the weak.”

  “Wrong. I have plans for an army such as this world has never seen. Hengist helps me raise it without even knowing. None will stand against me.” Jalad’s eyes softened with false pity. “Too bad you won’t live to see it. You’re more dangerous than useful.” He knotted his other hand in her matted hair. “You prayed to your Goddess for strength? You should have prayed for ignorance.”

  She struggled just to breathe.

  He appeared lost in thought or a silent conversation with the Other. “Then, witch, you will be tried afore the One Truth so all may see what happens to sorcerous heretics.”

  Witch? Heretic? Horror skittered along her every n
erve. Dara knew death by fire. The smell, the screams. “I will renounce you afore all.”

  “They’d think you mad.”

  “The dying speak the strangest truths. Enough will wonder. Enough might know.”

  “But a witch must be gagged lest she corrupt innocence.”

  She bared her teeth, but held still.

  He laughed. “You’ll go muzzled to the grave.” His voice deepened, hollow as a bottomless well. “The spirit of life is born in fire, and by fire does the spirit return to Her Light. Light to Light, from this world to the next.”

  She was shocked at sacred words from a demon.

  “You travel to the next world by fire. You should thank me. I could have you drawn and quartered but there’s such irony to fire.” He stepped back, releasing her. “I have plans to make. I’ll see you soon.” He turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  She sank to the floor, her mind as numb as her body. She’d thought she’d have more time, for plans, rescues. There was no way Loren could make it back in time. Now it seemed there was time only for thoughts. For questions. How far had Loren and Xavier gotten? Would Moira live to see her son take the throne after his father?

  Jalad returned hours later in full ceremonial armor. Caltrik held a burning rush torch and Gerrold a set of prisoner transport chains. “Just like a family reunion.” Jalad laughed. A heavy strip of linen dangled from one chainmailed fist. “Time to silence the witch.” He tied the gag across Dara’s mouth.

  Caltrik’s coarse laughter answered him as Gerrold unlocked her prison chains. She straightened on legs that shook from numbness, cold and fear. Gerrold replaced the true-iron shackles with the iron-blend transport manacles. She sensed the difference, a lightening of the restraints.

  Jalad chuckled at her trembling. “Cold? Not for long. Soon we’ll warm you.”

  Dara wondered what mockery of a trial awaited her.

  They hauled her into the main hall. She struggled through the knifing pain to breathe in enough air to keep moving. Lightheaded, she panted around the cloth. Noses wrinkled as she staggered past, and people took a step back. She squinted against the blinding brightness of the sunlit windows. Voices remarked on her nudity and filthiness. Her blood boiled. She straightened aching shoulders and raised her eyes, staring straight ahead. Inside, she sought her power, but it cowered beneath iron’s grip. So be it.